


Hall of Fame

by Ghost_Assist (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dave-centric, M/M, Time Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2754512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Ghost_Assist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lights, Camera, Action. We’re famous buddy, cheer up.</p><p>A time traveling Dave meets his future self and is disappointed with the results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hall of Fame

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a mini-series from my writing blog. Written in one go without proofreading anything.

Eight years ago, you didn’t even dream of heading to Hollywood to become famous. Eight years ago, you were a normal high school student in some stupid Washington town in the middle of nowhere. Back then, your hobbies were merely hobbies. Who knew that in a four years time, you’d be offered a scholarship to a famous California university just because of some shitty song you submitted to a radio station to play on the night of your Senior Prom. How fucking lucky are you.

If normal high school student Dave Strider from eight years ago suddenly and miraculously developed sick time travelling powers and somehow met you now, he’d definitely be shitting himself.

That’s why you don’t understand why he looks so… worried. “Hey man, what’s up, I thought you found a genie and wished to see your future self,” you raise an eyebrow at him. It sort of fucking sucks that you never ever take your shades off. You’re not so keen on reading people’s emotions, much less the emotions of a more hormone-induced younger version of you. But you could see it in the way he’s holding himself; shoulders slightly raised, arms crossed. Kid you is all over the place, and frankly you feel a bit humiliated.

 “Well kid, wish granted,” you say with a hint of annoyance.

He hasn’t spoken to you since you’ve told him about your fabulous life and all your wealth and publicity. If you were in his place, you’d be so pumped for this life; so  _alive_  and fucking joyful that there are people out there in the world that adore the shit beats he makes. Why is he so hesitant?

He’s voice begins quietly, as if he was gathering the courage to fight a dragon. Jeez kid, you’re not some knight in a story book, just come out with it. “I-“. He pauses. He coughs a little, and you decide to make yourself a glass of kool-aid. Your kitchen and living room are basically the same room, and you don’t give a shit if he thinks you’re not giving him respect. He’s you, your always giving yourself respect.

He grunts, and you look up from the counter. “Kid breath. According to your whacked-out story, you have all the time you need.”

You hear him whisper something on the line of “that’s a terrible joke, I can’t believe I said that” and you smirk.

Finally,younger you asks,” Do you live alone?”

You shake your head. “It’s it a bit obvious?” you respond. You stir your drink slowly and open the fridge to get some ice. You drop a few cubes in and take a sip.

“It’s a bachelor’s lifestyle dude, you’ll learn to appreciate it,” you mumble into your drink. “But anyway,” you rant,” there’s tons of fine ladies, and dudes too that will literally thrown their bodies to me. There are people who are pretty high up there that will cry buckets of tears for me to show up on their crappy talk shows. It’s not as bad as you think man.”

Younger you doesn’t seem to buy it. He states his distrust in you, “That’s a load of bull, grandpa.”

“Hey, I’m only 26, and still young. Look, I’m even drinking kool-aid too,” you reply. My, he’s in a mood. And you’re not in the mood to deal with his mood. You could imagine Bro dealing with all his attitude. God bless Bro. You decide to leave a note in your phone to thank him for taking care of a shitty child such as yourself.

“Kool-aid doesn’t make you young like how Bro’s obsession with fruity drinks doesn’t make him a hip soccer mom,” he counters. Ouch.

“Look kid—“you say.

“If you call me kid again, I just might bite your records and grate it with my dumb braces,” he says.

“Oh my god, why do you hate me so much small me,” you complain.

“Jesus Christ, could you just call me Dave or something? I’ll call you Grandpa Dave for you if you want. Okay Gramps?”

“I like your sense of humor,” you say trying not to grate your teeth.

Simultaneously, you both sigh.

Then, your fancy heck phone begins ringing. “What,” you say. “Dave” just stands in the middle of your living room/ kitchen awkwardly as you take the call. You see him tapping his leg, impatiently looking at his sweet time-traveling doo- hickey. Apparently, it also functions as an average watch, so there’s that.

“Holy fuck, I thought you were supposed to be here at the studio like right now to talk about your latest releases,” your boss on the other end says calmly.

“Oh, I thought that was tomorrow, haha,” you say while cringing.

You signal the other Dave over to you. “Hey, um.” You start confidently. “Mind transporting the two of us back like three hours or so, so I’m not screwed.”

“It doesn’t work like that!” he scolds you. He then goes on a tangent about how time and space run on a balance, and he’s not suppose to do shit willy-nilly. Okay, okay fine!

“Well, kid,” he sends you a glare.

“Kid,” you say anyway. “I guess I’m going to have to bring you with me to this show. It’s not like I could just leave you here for the paparazzi to chew up.” Heaven knows what those people would do if they found him here.

“Cool, he replies. Wow! He’s in a good mood already? Jeez, that’s amazing. He’s up to something, you could feel it.

“I saw your sweet mini cooper out the window, by the way, could we talk about my boyfriend on the way there and why he isn’t, I don’t know a part of your fucking life?” He asks with a faux sweetness in his voice.

“Shit,” you say while grabbing your jacket and rushing outside. The little snot follows you, displaying no emotion what-so-ever.

“Story time, Grandpa.”

“Didn’t you say something about the space time continuum or something, Kid? Well, I can’t tell you about any future events because maybe in your timeline, apple juice won’t exist anymore, and you wouldn’t want that.” Smooth. That seems legit. With the speed you’re going, you’re afraid that the car is going to swerve, but if you do crash, you wouldn’t have to be in this conversation, and you would have a legitimate reason to be late.

“No, we didn’t learn that in time school. Stop avoiding the topic, Grandpa. It’s obvious that there’s some sort of rift between you and the rest of civilization, and it’s obvious I’m here to fix here. And I know you want to talk about  _him,_ ” he says.

“Okay, look. I have tons of friends, okay? I don’t need a teenager with about zero self confidence trying to tell me that I’m lonely,” you sigh.

“Zero times zero is still zero asshole,” he snarls. He continues, “I also didn’t say anything about you being lonely.”

“Hey, Mini-Rose, please shut up now. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“I know when I’m unhappy dude. It’s so fucking obvious. So just fess up to me,” he says.

You grip the wheel. You’re glad you see an upcoming red light, so you smash on the breaks making the kid bang his head on the desktop.

“I have a degree in college, thank you very much. I’m educated. You’re not. End of conversation.”

“Hmph, you lowered yourself to petty assault. Let me say that I’m disappointed in me,” he says while nursing his head.

You see the studio building in the distance. It’s probably the first time you’re exited to get some work done. You speed the car up to 60 miles and race over there. You park smoothing into your reserved space, and younger you raises an eyebrow at you.

“I’m very, very, very, very, very….” You ignore the brat, and step out of the car. He’s still in there in the car. He’s getting to the word ‘disappointed’, but you motion to him to get the fuck out or else.

“Sorry kid, but I’ve got a show to get to,” you try to say with regret. Lol. “But anyway, people just might mistake you as some wonder fan or something if you hang around the studio, so I think it’s best for you to wait at the coffee shop right over there,” you point to the general direction (you think) the coffee shop is. Here’s some cash, my iPad, bye!”

He’s still glaring at you, but he goes off anyway.

“Look grandpa, you better not leave me stranded there. If anything, I still have faith that my older self wouldn’t abandon a sickly, young child in the middle of nowhere.”

You’ve walked away already, but you still wave back at him. Whatever, he needs assurance. You know how clingy you used to be.

You walk into the studio and wave at your boss. She’s doesn’t look she’s ready to punch you yet, so you sigh in relief. She points to her wrist and mouths, “Two minutes.”

Your Freudian slip in the car means nothing. To assure yourself, you repeat the phrase again with confidence, “I’m not lonely.” Ha, funny. Your voice sounded almost bitter.

" _And here with us right now, is the award winning, music-sensation, america’s most beloved—-_  

                                    **Dave Strider!**

The crowd cheers wildly and the studio lights blind the stage. You wave blindly into the audience as a staff member hands you a microphone.  Crap, the only thing you know about talk shows with a  _live_ audience is that someone is going to  **cry**. It will either be the audience, the host/hostess, the staff, or you. You frown slightly. From the sidelines, you see your boss using both of her hands to pinch her checks up. ‘Smile, idiot,’ she mouths to you. You force a smile.

You hear the crowding whooping joyfully as the hostess emerges from the other side of the studio. She shoots the audience a bubbly smile and a seductive wink; she’s cute and totally your type. You feel yourself relaxing. You slowly approach center stage.

“I’m so glad you could join me on my show today, Dave,” she says as you give her an obligatory hug.

“I’m glad to be here,” you say in response. You take a seat on the sofa across from her.

For thirty minutes, she only brings up topics about your music (like your boss had informed you.) You’re secretly relieved, but then she reaches for something beside her. You can’t see it.  The crowd ‘ooos’ and ‘aahs’ until the perky hostess reveals a pair of shades similar to yours and adorns it onto her face. You gulp because the first thought that comes to you is not the hostess’s unexpected display of humor. It’s not the roar of the audience’s laughter. It’s not the sound of everyone in the studio laughing.

No. It’s the dumb kid on the sidelines. He’s right there, goddamn starbucks in one hand, the shit you threw at him in the other, standing beside your boss. And he’s smirking. You want to mouth “FUCK”, but you obviously can’t. Instead, you chuckle, because heeeeeeeeeey, the hostess did something  WACKYYY so let’s all have a GOOD laugh here.

The laughter dies, and the hostess removes her (ugh, plastic) aviators. She waves the eyewear around as she throws you a question. “So Dave, there appears to be rumors floating around that your special set of aviators were given to you by the same person who inspired you to write your first hit.” Her voice is sweet and strong, but you could already feel your voice cracking.

In your head you’re screaming. Are you here to give every single goddamn person who asks your life story? Isn’t your success a testament on its own? You’re only 26, but you’re one of the richest people in California. You have your own record label, your own brand. Your songs have been featured in 50 movies worldwide. Why can’t people let the past go?

“False.” Your voice comes off icily. You continue with your voice monotone and your expression solemn,” Look Fef, whoever spread those rumors about the song, and the shades are obviously trying to gain some popularity points. The deal is, I’m my own inspiration, and furthermore, these shades, are simply too cool for anyone to know where it comes from. I could have woken up with it. I don’t fucking know. I don’t care. But what I do know, is that I’ll continue making my beats, despite all of these rumors buzzing around. I know I’m up there, so of course there’s going to be people trying to pull me down to pick themselves up. Besides, I’m never one for the past. If you want to reach the top, you have to make sure you never take your eyes off of it.” You smile at Feferi, and she claps for you. The audience claps for you! The staff, your boss, everyone will cheer you on.

 From the corner of your eye you could see the kid. He’s not doing anything, but watching you. He’s shaking his head. You see his lips move, and you’re certain the word unsaid was directed at you.

“Pathetic.”

You really hate younger you.


End file.
